


the End of the World, pt 3.

by hongmunmu



Series: the End of the World [3]
Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: End of the World, M/M, Red Lyrium, Short, dying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 01:55:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7957852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hongmunmu/pseuds/hongmunmu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remember me as a time of day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the End of the World, pt 3.

**Author's Note:**

> i was listening to one of my eotw mixes and had a Feel (tm) so there's a bunch of song title references in here. It Just Happened Bro.

Everything in this world starts and ends with a blizzard.

The Alamarri came out of the southern unknown, hands blue, they made their fires. Like everything else in the universe they arrived, they made their mark, and they disappeared back into the freezing fog from whence they came. The snowstorm wailed and covered their tracks, and they too were gone. Nothing is permanent. Nothing remains. Only the endless white, and blistering, burning cold.

White implies Black.

Spirit implies Void.

They were alike in soul and body, possessed by the blood of the Fade, sustained by the blood of the Blight. They say we eat what makes us stronger. We eat what we need.

A spirit embodies a mortal ideal. Spirits are formed off the world they watch but do not occupy. Without a mortal soul to guide it, a spirit loses concept, as do we all. Faith. Hope. Conflict. Mortal things.

Let us not fall into the jaws of the wolf together.

The words of a wise man. Someone like him. Fenris couldn’t remember the name. He was too busy floating.

His skin had always been warm, even before the red. He remembered now, his mamae tracing the lines on his palms. Always warm. Always dry. Strange how he only remembered this now. Where had he been for all these years?

He melted the snow around him. He always had. He’d blazed across Thedas from the northern border to the south, and never once stopped to look at his glorious fires. Shivering. Alone.

Two walking windows into the Fade. Two more victims of the Taint. Anders had never been one to dwell, but with so little and yet so much out here, endless, blinding snow as far as the eye could see, there was nowhere else for his mind to go.

Conversation was a thing of the past. The world was silent now. Silent, and red, and white.

At the beginning the pain was slow and sharp, red pain. It ate at him, crystals in his blood, in his skin. In his mouth. He lost his voice, his prayer, his eyes. Maimed. Muted. Blind. The lyrium had taken everything from him. Fenris had always known it would. Red lines striped his face, snaking around and into his features, splitting off from each other like roots. A curse. A disease. And a blessing, if it meant he would be held like this.

“In another life,” Anders whispered softly, his voice cracked, breaking from disuse. The tears froze in his eyes. His blistered red hands on Fenris’s gaunt, lyrium-veined cheeks, thumb gently stroking against his face, feeling what was left of his skin. His brown skin, with its huge pores and acne scars and thousands of freckles and moles, more than he could ever hope to count. He loved him. “In another life, when we are cats.”

It’s gonna be alright.


End file.
